Legacy
by JadedFire
Summary: After being brutally raped by Grand Admiral Thrawn, Cecia Norvar runs away from the Empire to join the New Republic. After she gives birth to her son from that disastrous union, she realizes that no place is safe...
1. Prologue

A/N: I know Grand Admiral Thrawn may seem a bit OOC but I found the idea very interesting. His actions are explained in this prologue to give you more of an understanding of the _why _he did it to Cecia Norvar. Please review and tell me what you think.

**Prologue**

Cadet Cecia Norvar knew everyday in service to the Galactic Empire would a good one. She was a new conscript, but had had the priviledge of serving aboard the _Chimaera_ underneath the leadership of Grand Admiral Thrawn and Captain Gilad Pellaeon.

Everyone was feeling anticipation as to how Thrawn would lead the final assault against the self-proclaimed New Republic. It was nearing time to root out the traitors of the Empire.

Already the Grand Admiral was having a strange fixation on the planets Myrkr and Wayland.

Cecia wondered why he was so intereested in them; they seemed out of the way.

She admired the Grand Admiral, though, even though he was an alien. She had heard some stories of his achievements and could hardly wait to see them in action.

_Thank the Force that I don't have any parents to mourn my loss into the Empire._

_  
_Many families were angry at the Empire for forcing their young men and women to serve under Grand Admiral Thrawn, as one could understand.

I-I-I-I-I

Grand Admiral Thrawn felt an all too familiar warmth (yet again) and tightening in his loins. He narrowed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest of his command chair, trying to conquer the mating urge.

He was in the breeding season of his species, and while there were several female officers onboard the _Chimaera_ (all mechanics or cadets) he didn't want to find sexual relief in them. The Empire was in the middle of a war and he didn't want to use anyone that way. This had happened several times before, and each time he had had enough time to disguise himself as a human and go to the nearest brothel and had found considerable relief there.

But there was no time to waste going to a brothel out in the yonder regions of the galaxy. He would have to hold back the desire to have sex.

He growled irritably as another wave hit him. This was the second week, and this was perhaps the worst week in the ordeal. The very first day had been the slightest of hormonal urges and it had only lasted for a few minutes. These urges lasted for several hours now and came in immediate succession.

His season was becoming distracting and tiresome. Thrawn was beginning to detest certain aspects of his anatomy. He sometimes entertained the notion of surgical castration. Ah, to be rid of this torment. He was slowly becoming a slave to himself. Thrawn was used to being dominant over his body, over his feelings, over everything—but this was becoming more and more out of his control.

Looking at art couldn't distract him, nothing worked. Even his goal for an Imperial victory over the Rebellion was growing more to the wayside mentally.

I-I-I-I-I-I

"So, what's this about you not having any parents?" one of Cecia's new acquaintances asked. Lilia Browel had recently been transferred to the_ Chimaera_, too. They were in the cafeteria, eating _cransh_ salad together.

Cecia Norvar poked at her food, silent for a moment.

"They both died in the Clone Wars when I was very young. I was three years old at the time. I barely remember them because they were always going out to battle," she said, then added as an afterthought, "I lived in an orphanage most of my life."

"Oh."

Browel spooned another mouthful of salad into her mouth.

"My folks were terrified at letting me go. But after hearing there salary would decrease over the years if they didn't release me to the Empire. There's so many bitter folks about."

"Actually, I'm happy to serve the Empire. I think it's a good experience for me. Plus," and Cecia smiled, "we both get to see this Grand Admiral in action."

Lilia Browel blushed, sweeping her eyes on the plastic surface of the table. She smiled, then leaned forward to whisper.

"I've never told anyone this but I think the Grand Admiral, despite being an alien, is very handsome."

At her friend's words Cecia felt a certain measure of relief. So she wasn't the only young woman aboard the _Chimaera_ who felt the same way. She had never seen Thrawn in person, though she was very hopeful to meet him someday. Hopefully it would be under favorable circumstances. She wasn't too fond of the disciplinary scene.

"I'm sorry," Browel said after seeing that Cecia wasn't adding anything to that, holding an embarrassed and highly apologetic expression on her face, "It sounds strange, huh?"

Cecia laughed.

"No, not really."

Then she leaned toward Browel and whispered, "I think he's handsome, too. Though I've never met him in person."

"Me neither."

A voice suddenly cut through their conversation.

"What are you two talking about?"

Cris Petierson stood behind Lilia Browel. He was a handsome young man, high cheekbones, classily dressed when outside of uniform. Though, the one downside to him was the fact he wasn't very bright.

But the matter of wits didn't matter to Cecia's friend. Lilia Browel and Cris Petierson had been friends since childhood, and both were secretly in love. They planned to get married after the war. That is, if they both survived through it all.

"Oh, Grand Admiral Thrawn," Browel said at an attempt at being casual.

Petierson looked puzzled.

"Surely you don't think he"— he started.

His beeper went off.

"Excuse me. I have to go to the bridge. I control the tractor beams, you know," he stated. "Morgley must be off."

He left almost as abruptly as he had came.

Little did Cecia Norvar or Lilia Browel realize that would be the last time they would ever see him alive.

I-I-I-I-I-I

Horror. Terror. Both feelings swam through Cecia Norvar in the crew pits as she stared, horrified, at the spreading sea of red around the broken body of Cris Petierson. She knew why the Grand Admiral had killed him, but it didn't alleviate the anger she held inside for him. The Grand Admiral had little remorse in his face over his actions.

Didn't he realize Petierson had a family? That he could just as easily have banned Petierson from ever serving in the Empire and use _that _as a humiliating example for the others? Why did Thrawn feel he had to _kill_ the man?

Lilia Browel, whose post was near Cecia Norvar's, gagged as though becoming sick in an attempt to cover up the sobs of grief threatening to overwhelm her.

"Clean up the mess," Thrawn ordered in a glacially calm voice to a pair of medics.

_Clean up the mess! Is _that_ what he thinks of Cris!_

Cecia took a deep breath to calm herself.

Grand Admiral Thrawn turned around to look directly into her eyes. She was too angry and grief filled to feel awe or terror toward him. She felt as though nothing could get any worse. Her new friend's fiance had been brutally murdered by that demonic bodyguard of Thrawn's.

She held his cold stare, not letting him have the satisfaction of seeing her grief, of seeing her surrender her gaze and look away.

I-I-I-I-I-I-I

She was somewhat attractive and she had the crisp coolness and intelligence in her eyes that reminded Grand Admiral Thrawn of a female Chiss.

Her hair was light brown, a little wavy, her eyes were brown, she had pale skin, and she was small. Light boned.

Good. He always liked his momentary sexual partner to be on the smaller scale, small breasted, petite. A part of his soul cried out against what he was setting out to do. Sexual activity between a superior and junior officer was frowned down upon.

But, at the same time, he couldn't operate right in his season. He was becoming increasingly dangerous by the moment. If he didn't mate soon he would take someone by force. As he didn't want to do that, he tried to control the strong impulse to rip off her clothing as well as his and make love to her in plain sight of everyone.

He needed to be in control, even while being swamped with strange hormones. He needed to take her peacefully. And soon. He was burning alive and control was becoming harder to accomplish by the second in the presence of the opposite sex.

"You," he said in his commanding tone. "What is your name?"

"Cecia Norvar, sir," she said evenly, still staring up at him with icy coolness.

"Follow me."

I-I-I-I-I-I

Cecia followed him to his personal, dimly lit command room. It was strange how during lunch she had been thinking how she had been thinking how she would love to meet Thrawn in person sometime. Now that she had seen him, she didn't ever want to see him again.

He was a cruel, heartless monster.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn! Where are my Jedi?" an old man demanded.

Cecia Norvar recognized him as Joruus C'baoth. She swallowed down fear. He was insane, the dark Jedi from Wayland. His hair was white, wild, and while he appeared old he was well muscled. A bronze pendant hung from around his neck.

"Calm down, C'baoth. You will have your Jedi soon. Now, if you will excuse me."

To Cecia's surprise the Grand Admiral led her past the command center to his bedroom compartment.

His bedchambers were spacious compared to her and Lilia Browel's own. There was nothing overly lavish or gaudy about it either, though. She had imagined before that his bed quarters would be filled with classy frivolities. In a way, she was glad that wasn't the case.

"Please have a seat, Norvar," the Grand Admiral said politely.

Cecia sat down across from the bed.

What is he planning? Is he…shaking? 

She thought it was her imagination, but he really was shaking.

Suddenly she was beginning to feel _very_ uneasy about all this.

"Allow me to make an explanation," he said. His voice was still calm, but there was something about the way he was looking at her that made her heart pound against her chest. Made her stomach churn. Something was wrong. She had felt it when he had passed his command center, the place he should normally stop to communicate with junior officers and had entered his bedroom quarters instead.

"My species are seasonal breeders. In that time frame we must mate or we will lose control. We become irritable, and our existance becomes a living hell until the time of mating. The more we wait, the more in danger others are to our brutality as we lose control."

She had a sickening feeling inside where this was going. Before she would be glad to hop into his arms and allow him to make love to her, but the thought seemed a nightmare to her. And she felt anguish that he would even think about having sex right after having someone murdered. It showed how sick he was as a man.

His fingers lightly traced the back of her neck, tracing her spinal cord. She shivered in pleasure, then felt terrible for feeling that way around this heartless monster.

"I will try to be very gentle, Cecia. Will you comply?"

She envisioned Cris Petierson laying in his blood, Lilia Browel sobbing brokenly. Thrawn wanted her to give him sexual pleasure so he wouldn't "lose control" when he had just murdered a friend of her friend in front of her eyes? She would _never_ give him that pleasure.

"What do you think?" she bit out, too filled with hate to think about what she was saying, "That I'm supposed to moan, drop my clothes, and say, 'Of course—take me now, Thrawn!' when you _murdered_"—

He struck her across the face. Hard.

She reached a hand up to touch the spot but his left hand suddenly closed around the wrist, closing tightly.

She stared up at him, terror filling her. Why hadn't she said, "Yes" instead? Her refusal had caused him to become brutal.

His eyes were like burning, passionate flames of anger and intense sexual desire and determination. He would have her, whether he had her consent or not. And he would be anything but gentle.

I-I-I-I-I-I

She sat naked upon the bed, her arms hugging her knees to her chest. Bruises covered her body. Blood trickled down her legs. _He_ had taken her virginity from her, had used her like a wad of toilet paper, and then had fallen asleep after his exertion.

She was too numb and shocked to cry or become enraged. All she felt was nothing. Just a haunting emptiness inside. Every limb in her body trembled as she tried to escape him. She tried to organize her thoughts, but she couldn't think. She couldn't do anything.

Slowly, she made her way to the bathroom. Surely a bath would make it all better. A nice, soothing bath.

Pain filled her with each step, making a low whimper escape her lips.

As the bath filled with steaming hot water, she knew she would have to escape the Empire and that monster at all costs.

Cecia didn't want Thrawn to…do that….to her again.


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own SW

**Chapter One**

Night had fallen over Coruscant. Speeders zoomed in the invisible threads of the aerial highway, merchants, employers, and employees off to their personal industries. The lights from the tall skyscrapers and ancient buildings glittered like stardust in blue-black night.

A full moon hung in the sky, a pearl orb of beauty and mystery. Rays of moonlight pierced cloud which moved to cover its fair form, settling beams upon the banister of the tallest building upon Coruscant, the building with the most power—the Imperial palace, place of the late Emperor's abode.

On the balcony, bathed in the light, a figure of a woman stood clad in a green and brown gown and wearing an ornate golden hairpiece, the like of which was like the twisted vines of Naboo with leaf patterns. The woman was beautiful, yet there was something tragic about her posture.

She held both hands over her belly, her belly that was swollen in the last trimester pregnancy. She whispered and cooed to the unborn child, knowing it was the one thing she truly loved in her life, though once she had been filled with laughter and happiness.

Cecia Norvar, ex-Imperial, had had her laughter, innocence, and joy robbed in only one hour. An hour she wished only to forget, if not for the fact it had brought out her greatest joy.

The sound of fabric rustling on the hard floor made her turn her head around to view the Minister of State. She was little surprised to see Mon Mothma. Ever since she was found be the New Republic, she had met with the leaders of the New Republic quite often.

Cecia gave a smile in greeting, yet her eyes, so dim and sorrow filled, did not smile.

"What is it?" she asked. Though she already knew Mon Mothma would ask about the child. Ever since telling scant few in the higher ups of the New Republic the identity of the father, they had been highly concerned about the welfare of her child. Cecia Norvar couldn't help but feel as though people and aliens alike viewed her as a pregnant bantha.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," the older woman said, a warm smile on her face.

"The baby is fine," Cecia said, almost mechanically. She felt as though she had said those words for thousands upon thousnads of times.

Mon Mothma shook her head slowly and gave a small, if a little sad, sigh.

"I asked about you. Not the child," she said, voice soothing.

"I'm all right," Cecia lied. In truth she had come to the balcony to escape the nightmares which still plagued her since the time her superior had brutally raped her. Oftentimes she woke up drenched in sweat and shaking from images old yet potent in their capability to haunt her.

Mon Mothma gave her a keen glance, but gratefully didn't say anything about it. Her green eyes were now looking out upon the sea of towers and skyscrapers, looking at the busy tide of employers, employees, smugglers, bounty hunters, whatever was out there.

"It's beautiful out here," she said, more to herself than the pregnant woman.

"It's ugly. The Empire ravaged this planet, and the buildings are ugly. The starlight, the twinkles, and the fairy-tale glimmer of the moon is from the pollution of the factories and fumes from speeders. As far as beauty," Cecia looked pointedly around in the palace where she stood on the balcony, "this will suffice for now, though it hid a cruel and heartless man."

There was silence as Mon Mothma thought about her words.

Cecia was silent because a strange tightening had begun in her gut. Her child had been in position for hours now, and it had only been a matter of time before she went into labor.

Now she felt a contraction, slight and barely noticeable, but like small waves lapping against the shore followed closely by a storm.

She put both hands on her belly, her eyes wide with fear. What if something went wrong?

"It's time?" There was a trace of anxiety in the older woman's eyes, but her voice was still calm.

Cecia nodded.

"It is time."

I-I-I-I-I

Cecia's mother had told her how labor pain was much like cramps when one had a menstrual flow, but they were much worse than that. Even the ceiling, which changed patterns in comforting colors meant to sooth the mind, didn't help her situation.

She was drenched in sweat, beads dripping down her face, down the sides of her temples, and her hair was plastered.

The MD droid asked her to push. She complied as much as she could, but her body did most of the work for her.

Leia Organa Solo held her hand, brown eyes filled with compassion and empathy. She had given birth to twins some months ago, and it had been her first time, too.

Cecia wondered if…

pain…contraction….

"Push!

…Leia had had a harder time giving birth since she…

She moaned, leaving the thought to wander into nothingness, shuddering as a wet body slid from her stretched vaginal opening.

She hoped the baby, for the last time, resembled her more than the father. But when her eyes saw the little bundle wrapped in cloths, there was no mistaking the red eyes and blue skin of the father's species.

Someone laid the child on her stomach, and she was loath for a moment to touch him. He opened his mouth and gave a loud wail, letting her know he was hungry.

A smile crept upon her face, and she looked not upon the son of her rapist, of Grand Admiral Thrawn, but her own child, which she had brought forth into the world. It wasn't a demon-child she looked upon, but a harmless baby—her son.

She held the babe close and allowed him to suckle her breasts, taking great joy in the prospect that he was hers. She would allow nothing to take him away from her.

"What will you call him?" someone asked. She didn't care who it was, since her attention was on her newborn son.

She thought for a moment. She had been counting on the child to be a girl, and the name Niella had come to mind, but now she had to sort through names of boys. She definitely didn't want to name the boy after his heartless father. It would invoke too many painful memories.

"Sorvan," she said after a long pause, child sleeping in her arms.

And so it was that Sorvan, the son of Grand Admiral Thrawn, came into the world.


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I own not Star Wars...

All songs are from _Tecnolife: UVERworld _and are from the BLEACH soundtrack.

_Injured with pain and sadness, the you that cannot be healed  
Shoulder the burden of the past that cannot be erased; don't throw away your will to live..._

**Chapter Two  
**

A pair of glowing red eyes in the secretive base of Holocrof glanced at the hired furry alien spy. The antelope-like Shinimi swallowed and shivered across the spacious room.

The room was a precise copy of the interior of a command center aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer. But there was one thing different from this room and the bridge of the Imperial-class battleships. This room was void of soldiers, officers—void and somehow even more fear enspiring.

Iiriini had heard about the man, the alien, in front of him, and the tales about his brilliance and cunning made the fur stiffen into tight spines from his neck down to his back.

He reached a paw into his drive pack and retrieved a small, rectangular object.

"I have the chip, sir," he said in Basic. "Was it all you needed?"

The once believed to be dead Grand Admiral picked the chip up between his index finger and thumb, then wordlessly slipped it inside a datacard. His expression never changed. There was no twitching of the lip, no adding or lessening to the unblinking red eyes.

"Very good, Iiriini. Yes, this is all I need at the moment. You may leave."

Grand Admiral Thrawn waited until the alien was out of sight before switching on the transmission button. The New Republic was in an uproar about something. But even his espionage agents hadn't gathered sufficient detail. All they had gathered were rumors…

A holograph image was projected and he sucked in his breath.

Cecia Norvar.

I-I-I-I-I

Cecia stared up at the holo charts. Three weeks had passed since giving birth to Sorvan. In that time she found she enjoyed time spent with her child. Surprisingly, her nightmares of the child's violent conception had grown fewer and farther in between. She had expected the dreams to increase, not decrease.

Sorvan gurgled and cooed up at her, his eyes inquisitive. He was already able to hold his head up, and Cecia had witnessed him attempting to maneuver around his crib.

Three weeks. Didn't babies normally begin to crawl at six to seven months of age? Or was that cruel tyrant's species a short lived race?

Cecia frowned. She didn't want Sorvan to grow up too fast, though it seemed inevitable.

The door chimed and she instinctively had the crib pulled into another room. Out of sight. Since the infant's birth she had had problems with some groups of people who believed her son should rightfully die for his father's crimes. Leia Organa Solo had tried to open up negotiations with those individuals, but they were too stiff necked and filled with hate for Grand Admiral Thrawn to listen.

Already since Sorvan's birth there had been several attacks on her own life. Especially after the same said group of people found out she was trying to protect her child. Even when she went to work with the specialized bodyguards that were assigned to her, she could hear whispers of the word, "Traitor," in the air.

What had the child done? Sorvan was innocent in his father's crimes. But it seemed some individuals lived in hatred and intolerance for others.

Cecia Norvar hit the right keys in the door panel and it slid open to reveal Leia Solo standing outside it. Her brown hair was put up in a gold comb and she was wearing a long pink and white gown. The colors were pastel, light, and the material was airy.

"Hello, Cecia!" she greeted, a warm smile on her lips. But her eyes were solemn. She knew what effect the threats were having on Cecia.

"Hi, Senator Organa Solo," Cecia said, relieved to see the older woman.

"May I come in?"

"I don't mind, no. You may come in."

Leia told Cecia that it would be best to secret herself away to the distant planet of Naboo and change her name and identity.

She told Cecia Norvar that the action would be paid for entirely from the New Republic to ensure her safety.

Cecia glanced at the room the child was in. Yes, she needed to find shelter from the eyes of those filled with the most hatred.

"Yes. I'll leave. I have been very worried about Sorvan's safety."

I-I-I-I-I-I

Leia Organa Solo stepped outside of the apartment complex feeling as though the war would never end. With Grand Admiral Thrawn dead, she had naively believed the threat to her twin children and to Cecia Norvar's child, Sorvan. But it seemed the enemy was within the senate.

So many aliens were so embittered against the Empire that they didn't realize their hate could hurt an innocent. Norvar was an ex-Imperial, a New Republic citizen.

Something was following her down to the hangar where her speeder was stationed.

She kept walking, hand instinctively moving toward the lightsabre her twin brother, Luke Skywalker had given her.

She paused midstep, took a deep breath, turned around and—

There was no one directly in front of her, but she could sense someone was there. The speeders and guard rails disguised the stalker.

Leia picked up the sound of a couple talking, the lull of quiet conversation within the hangar bay. She was surrounded with people, yet the sense of danger was eminent.

Out of the corner of her eye she thought she witnessed an gazelle-like alien with twisting, curling horns sprint into a speeder, blending itself neatly in with the aerial traffic.

Whatever it was, the feeling of being stalked had been depleted by the Shinimi's escape.

I-I-I-I-I

Cecia held her son close to her breast, bottle feeding him the special concoction formed by the lead scientists of the New Republic. She had discovered soon after giving birth to Sorvan that he couldn't take human milk very well and so had relied upon certain specialists.

This had disappointed her, having been looking forward to breast feeding her baby. She was glad that Sorvan was safe, that he was still unharmed from the vicious attacks.

"Sometimes I wish I was still serving the Empire. No, even then the New Republic would have kept trying to kill me. It's a no-win situation," she said aloud.

Sorvan gave a whimper in protest as the milk ran out, then began to wail. Loudly.

There appeared to be no difference between this child and a human child. Both were annoying at times and for the same reasons.

"All right, all right. Mommy's gonna get some more."

She set him back down in his crib.

She searched through her cabinets to find the dry formula. Ah. There it was. Underneath the canned, shredded bantha meat.

She measured it out into a bottle, added water, shook well, then gave it to the hungry, crying baby. Despite the fact Sorvan was mostly cute and good, there were times when Cecia almost wanted to throttle him.

Satisfied when his mouth was over the nipple of the bottle, he contentedly began sucking it, becoming very quiet.

Sometimes I wonder what life was like without him, she thought. She thought of the threats and closed her eyes to the tears that built up in them. Losing Sorvan to those terrorists would be the worst case scenario. She instinctively held him closer at the thought, holding him tight against her chest.

He made a whine of protest and she lightened up on her grip.

I-I-I-I-I

The third-class freighter to Naboo streamed through space.

Cecia stared outside her port window, glad that so far all had gone smoothly. Sorvan was wrapped in blankets to ensure he remained hidden to the eyes of curious aliens and humans alike. With his glowing red eyes staring out from the shadows of the blanket it was a little bit of a challenge.

Beside her sat a family of Weeqays and across sat a menacing looking Devaronian, horned head bowed in sleep.

Cecia tried to remember her name was Elra Quantor now. Or, that was the name she wanted once she changed it. Hopefully someday she would be able to revert to the original.

The ship beamed out of hyperspace and a brass voice squawked over the intercom, "We are making landing on Platform 234 on Keren. Please stand by."

There was a roar from the ion jets and Cecia relaxed back, holding Sorvan protectively against her breast. She was very careful not to let him be seen by the aliens around her. She found out she needn't have worried; the other life forms were too excited about the landing to be interested in whether or not Sorvan was a genuine human baby. They could really care less.

It was hectic after landing to find a tansport to the large town of Moenia. The Minister of State had bought a private house for her on the outskirts of the town. It was supposed to be protected with specialized guard droids disguised as domestic protocal units. In case more fanatics against Grand Admiral Thrawn appeared they would be ready.

After getting a personal transport, Cecia Norvar looked below to watch the lands and forested valleys of Naboo move below her. After a period of time she saw the structures of Moenia. Her brown eyes took in the central art center, a place of focus in the city. Many artists lived in Moenia, as the city was known for them.

On the outskirts the transport made a landing outside a small house with the typical Naboo style green domed roof. The structure was surrounded by trees, partially obscuring it. Pruned bushes were around it, giving it a more domestic feel. Outside was one of the guard droids, appearing for all the world to be trimming the bushes.

"Will that be all, lady?" the driver of the transport asked politely.

"Uh-huh," Cecia said in affermative, "that will be all. Thank you."

She paid him and then entered the house, feeling relieved that the last of the attacks were behind her. She doubted anyone would be able to trace her in the area. And if they did she had her droids to protect her.

"Good evening, Miss Quantor," one droid said.

Cecia was glad to hear that the droids had had her new name written in their databanks. Now all she had to do was get used to being Elra Quantor.

Whenever she went anywhere she would have to leave Sorvan behind with a nanny droid, though it tore her up inside at the mere thought of leaving him alone even for a little while.

I-I-I-I-I-I

Iiriini sat across from Grand Admiral Thrawn. Had Thrawn not paid him large amounts of money, the special agent would have been tempted to blurt out the secret to the New Republic that the Grand Admiral was still living. Though, the Shinimi was still confused as to how he was alive. Didn't the rumors say that he had been assassinated by his bodyguard? Had he been able to recover even though the bodyguard supposedly stabbed him in the back, knife ripping through his heart?

Thrawn was leaning casually back in his seat, red eyes partially closed.

"Very interesting, Iiriini," he said after a moment of tense silence. Tense silence, that is, for the Shinimi. Then he sat up, red eyes fully open.

"Do you know fram what group the attacks were from?"

"Most notably resentful Imperial prisoners and a small group of smugglers and bounty hunters," Iiriini said.

"How many attacks were there on Norvar?"

"Five in a period of two weeks."

There was a brief silence as Thrawn mused over those words.

"What weapons were used?"

"Blasters. Slug throwers. Detanotors. I traced the origins of each weapon to the Carsh'ra Armament House," Iiriini said. He tried not to allow his voice display fear in the presence of the alien Grand Admiral, though he whistled between his words every now and then.

"Excellent. Your payment will be tripled," Thrawn said.

All fear seemed to leap out a virtual, mental window at those last few words. Iiriini would be rich. Very rich.

"Th-thank you, sir!" he breathed. Then, while the prospect of being very wealthy filled him wiped away pretence, he added, "Sir, why are you so interested in Cecia Norvar?"

Thrawn's facial expression remained the same, composed and cool. But his eyes seemed to have more of a fiery intensity to them.

"I understand your curiosity, Agent Iiriini. But. I cannot give out that information at this moment. In the meanwhile keep a close eye on Norvar. You know what to do."

"Yes, sir."

To be Continued…

_Your hand that I held... _

_Will we lose it someday?  
I want to protect you and that disappearing smile  
The ringing voice that calls me dries out  
Even if it gets erased by the wind along time I will find you..._


	4. Chapter Three

Note: Noticed earlier I had made a mistake in the story. I mention in the first chapter (because it was originally the prologue) that Cecia remembers her mother telling her labor is like menstrual cramps but in the true prologue it talks of how her parents died when she was three. If anyone notices anymore inconsistencies please tell me.

Also, I was wondering if I should up the rating to "M". I hate doing that, because I know it will drive people away, but at the same time I want to have the right rating. With the subject matter I'm almost thinking it would be best M but am still unsure.

And the song is the same from the last chapter except in a different part.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Star Wars. It's just a fanfic.

_So you will not break, you distance yourself from me  
Don't say words like you can't smile or you hate people_

_Now it's by and by, even if you cannot see, there's a meaning to everything  
Shoulder the burden of the past that cannot be erased; don't throw away your will to live_

**Chapter Three**

The man at _Jag's Tri Diner _took another long swig of his jawa juice, dark blue eyes taking a brief glance at whoever entered the diner. He had a five o'clock shadow and there were dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep in the past few days. Of course, no one would ever know _why _he had been having little sleep…

He looked at his chrono watch. Sith. That blasted Shinimi was supposed to come much earlier!

As though in answer to his thoughts, the door swung open and his contact entered.

"May I help you?" the droid waitress asked in her artificial upbeat voice.

The Shinimi whistled and said, "No. Thanks."

He then walked toward the man that was waiting for him.

"What did you find, Josan?" the Shinimi whispered in a crooning voice once he had sat himself across from him. Josan Milburn glanced around to make sure no one was listening in on the conversation. He had been trained up in military combat and in observation skills. His biotech mechanical eyes aided him in the latter. The eyes had an authentic appearance, having realistic colored lenses that imitated the dialation and constriction of ordinary organic eyes.

"Elra Quantor has made a transfer to Naboo. On the outskirts of Moenia in fact."

The Shinimi made a puzzled chirrup mixed with a sharp click.

"Elra Quantor?" he asked.

Josan nodded, taking another gulp of his juice. His eyes flicked around the diner and then he said in a low voice, "The name of His quarry has been changed to Elra Quantor," he paused and lowered his voice even more so that it was barely audible, "Her house has been outfitted with specialized guard units disguised as domestic protocal droids. Relay that info back to Him."

Before Iiriini could leave Josan added, "When do I get paid?"

The Shinimi released a series of low whistles, the same as a shrug among the alien race.

"You have to settle that with _Him_."

Josan swallowed convulsively. He would much rather sit quietly and _wait_ for Thrawn to pay him than to actually approach him about it. Though he had worked under Thrawn before, it was quite another to actually meet him face to face.

Everyone knew he had blue skin and red eyes, but there was something chilling about him that had nothing to do with physical appearances. It was that unseen brain. That intelligence. The knowledge that whatever Thrawn wanted he would get, no matter how much pain it caused anyone in the meanwhile.

His ears picked up the sound of fabric moving over rubber, and he glanced across from him to see a tall woman with wavy auburn hair sprinkled liberally with gray stand up from her table. She wore an classic business suit, clear glass lenses over her eyes, and she was carrying a containment pouch.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully. "I'm Melita Ronswan. May I talk to you for a sec?"

Warning bells went off in his mind. There was something suspicious about her. The woman appeared innocent, but at the same time Josan wasn't about to trust her.

"Why should I?" he asked.

Ronswan (if that was her real name) reached her hand into her pouch to pull up a small hand blaster, most of it still submerged in the pouch to be discreet.

"I felt like a nice chat," she said, still holding up the friendly charade. Her blue eyes were harder than adamant.

"All right. We'll have a chat outside."

He moved as though to get up. Ronswan turned her gaze from him to the door. That would prove to be her mistake.

He lunged at her and tried to remove her grip from the weapon. He wrenched her arm behind her back, giving her a powerful sideways kick that made her lose her balance.

"What's going on?" the ruffled restaurant manager demanded in a throaty voice.

"This woman pulled a blaster on me, sir,' Josan said truthfully. "I would have her arrested if I were you."

I-I-I-I-I-I

Melita Ronswan cursed beneath her breath as she watched the man leave. She had been suspicious of him ever since he had entered _Jag's Tri Diner_. Especially after he had begun talking about Cecia Norvar.

Ronswan had been trained for many years as a secret agent. She wasn't nearly as talented as Mara Jade, but normally she was able to take on other agents from different organizations. That man had been too much for her. All because she had taken one quick look away from him. How stupid!

Ronswan had made a mistake, and she _hated_ making mistakes.

She had been motivated to find the leaders of the extremist movement that had been persecuting Norvas. It was illogical and cruel to destroy the victim of rape and the rapists son just because the aggressor was Grand Admiral Thrawn.

She had to help stop it before it grew out of hand.

Though, one of her regrets was that she hadn't asked the man's name firsthand. Now it would be especially hard to track him.

Making that mistake number two for the day.

And who was the _He_ that Shinimi had spoken about? A crimelord, bitter prisoner, smuggler, an Imperial—what and who was the _He_?

I-I-I-I-I-I

_Pain. Terror. The feeling of having her body, soul, and spirit ripped apart and soiled. Words were hissed in the night. Each thrust was merciless, each one splinters of pain. There was no escape from him. No escape. He had turned from polite well-mannered Grand Admiral to wild beast in a few seconds. _

_This was a nightmare. A dream. But it was reality in all its ugliness._

_Her pleas, screams, and sobs were unheard. But she kept pleading, hoping he would hear her. Hoping in that somewhere there was a little bit of true mercy in that heart. _

There was none.

"_Stop! Please _stop!"

Cecia woke up sobbing and crying out the last word, curling herself up into fetal position, trying hard to still the racing of her heart. Her mind was reliving the trauma from that moment. Something she couldn't allow. She wanted to live, she wanted to _forget_ the pain both physical and emotional.

But it was hard to fully forget. She was reminded constantly of Thrawn by her son, by the attacks made on her, by these dreams—it wasn't something she could forget at the drop of a hat.

_It's all over, _she told herself, rocking gently back and forth to comfort herself, soothing herself with the movement. _He's dead. It was just a dream. It's all over. _

She closed her eyes and turned her mind to other matters.

It had been two days since she had moved to the large town of Moenia. Several times while unpacking she had wished she wasn't threatened, that there were no hero-wannabe extremists out there after her. Moenia, and Naboo in general, was a lovely place to be. She would have loved to take a walk, sit outside, or meet the inhabitants aronud her.

But she was to be in hiding.

It wasn't fair. This fate pushed on her.

Cris Petierson's death. The rape. Being hunted by extremist groups. Was she going to be haunted and tormented all her life by all three?

Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Stop it, Cecia. Just don't think of it. All right?" she whispered to herself, tossing aside bed covers to see Sorvan several rooms down.

The nanny droid was watcing over him in the crib.

His glowing red eyes were shut with sleep, his breathing slow, peaceful.

Despite the fact he was taking his nap, his mother decided she needed to hold him close to her again. The one joy of her life. Sorvan. No one could ever take him away. She would never let them. All of the past traumas in her life would be nothing if the extremists won the battle and killed her baby.

"Miss Norvar, are you sure you want to hold him right now?" the nanny droid questioned.

"He'll get over it," Cecia murmured, reaching a finger down to caress her son's blue cheek. His tiny lips twitched in sleep and he made a terribly cute sigh, fingers curling around his little pillow.

Cecia smiled at the adorable, peaceful pose. She had seen Sorvan countless times sleeping that way, sighing in that manner, or clenching his tiny fingers around the pillow.Yet these moments to Cecia, seeing him asleep and witnessing his red eyes flutter open as he awoke, were still priceless.

"Hey," she whispered, afraid suddenly of breaking Sorvan's tranquil moment. She was reluctant to disturb him in any way now that she had seen him being absolutely adorable.

His little mouth opened in a yawn, a little 'o' shape.

Cecia was torn between holding him or letting him sleep.

Letting him sleep won out and she continued to watch him with a sense of maternal pride.

I-I-I-I-I-I

Grand Admiral Thrawn leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes partially closed. An edge of red gleamed out from blue-black lashes. He was seating alone inside the grand room, Corellian flame paintings set around the room like the interior of a museum.

They were all holographic, but that didn't stop the feeling of awe as Iiriini stepped foot in the room.

"Yes, Iiriini?" Thrawn asked without so much as moving a muscle.

For a brief moment, looking at grand masterpieces, he almost forgot about what he was there for and he had to rethink for a moment.

"Sir, Cecia Norvar has moved to the outskirts of Moenia, Naboo in the Chommel Sector of the Outer Rim," he said as he remembered. "She has changed her name to Elra Quantor. Her house is heavily guarded by specialized guard droids desgined to look like domestic protocal types."

Thrawn allowed himself a smile of grim satisfaction, eyes opening completely.

"Excellent. Things are moving much smoother than I had anticipated. I will make my next move in person."

The last words startled Iiriini. Didn't Thrawn usually sit in the middle of the web instead of taking part? Wouldn't that make it blatantly obvious to the New Republic that Grand Admiral Thrawn was still alive?

"I will be needing your occassional assistance, of course." Thrawn gave a brief glance at his chrono watch. "We will be leaving in precisely one hour for Naboo."


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! In this chapter I introduce some new characters and add more intrigue. The song snippet at the beginning of the story is _30 Minutes_ by TATU. I disagree with most of their songs, but _30 Minutes_ seems to fit this chapter and this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own SW.

_ Out of sight_  
_ Out of mind  
Out of time_  
_ To decide_

_Do we run?  
Should I hide?  
For the rest  
Of my life?_

_**Chapter Four**_

Melita Ronswan glanced at the information on the town of Moenia. She knew very little about Naboo aside from the fact it had had a large part in the war against the Trade Federation and later in the Galactic Civil War. She had researched on Jar Jar Binks, had been too disgusted with his clumsiness and stupidity to further that research, and had decided to get down to business with drawing up information on Moenia.

The thing she _should_ have been doing at the start.

"Would you like another cup of Corellian wine?" her etiquette droid asked with all politeness.

"No. Thank you, Esee," Ronswan said.

She needed to keep a clear head. She had already contacted the New Republic officials that the extremist group had managed to trail Norvar somehow. They had given her permission to disguise herself as a tourist to spend a weekend there.

They were also sending someone else down with her as backup.

Jonas Halburn. Crime investigator. He was notable for his ability to solve crimes most New Republic police would be baffled at.

He was a handsome man. Around thirty or forty. He had blue eyes, dark red hair, freckles, and he was very attractive. From the picture Melita had seen of him he had appeared trim and fit. From the record it said he had been a combat artist at an early age before becoming an investigator later on. From the picture it looked as though he still kept himself in top shape.

Ronswan had felt partially amused that they were supposed to pretend to be a newly weds.

She wondered currently how long it would take to track down the extremists.

A door chime broke through her line of thoughts and she put her datapad aside to answer it. She wasn't too surprised to see Halburn standing in the doorway, having planned beforehand for a meeting.

She was unsure how to react in his presence, but decided to be cheerful. A little bit cheeriness never hurt anyone.

"Hi!" she greeted, putting a smile on her face. She motioned a hand inside. "Come on in!"

"Knock it off! We were supposed to go to Moenia yesterday. We're seriously behind schedule so knock off the mask, alrighty?"

She removed the smile. Already she wasn't too impressed with the man. Hopefully the investigation would change her perspective.

"I'm glad they didn't send Skywalker or Han Solo. It seems they take too much upon themselves," she said, hoping to start a conversation going. If there was no slight attraction or chemistry between them they wouldn't be able to fool anyone. They'd appear as what they were-frauds.

"It does appear that way, doesn't it?" he agreed, seating himself on her couch. He turned to Esee who was standing silently in the room. "Get me something to drink," he ordered.

"Wait a minute!" Melita Ronswan broke in irritably. "You can't just"-

"_Miss_ Ronswan, we're supposed to be a couple, right? What better time to pretend than at the start of this case?"

Ronswan pursed her lips. She still didn't like the idea of a stranger making himself so completely at home in her house and ordering her personal droid around. It didn't suit well with her.

"Yes. What better time?" she murmured, more to herself than to him.

She couldn't help but wonder still how they'd get along together.

Her first impression by far wasn't a very good one.

I-I-I-I-I-I

Cecia ran a hand through her hair as she tried to find the special formula. Surely she wasn't out! Surely after a few days she hadn't used it all up. But it seemed that was the case. There was no formula to be found.

She had searched everywhere in the house to find formula, and soon Sorvan would want to be fed. In thirty minutes it would be feeding time again.

At least she had been able to change his diaper. Thank providence she hadn't run out of _that_.

She looked over at him, watching him working with a rotating puzzle, her lips compressing together in a grim line. She hated leaving him alone. He wouldn't be entirely helpless, of course. There was still the nanny droid and the guards that would be watching out for him.

But it didn't alleviate the guilt and resentment flooding through her. She should have the right to carry her child to the store, have the _right_ to see to his needs. She shouldn't have to be worried about someone taking potshots at him! She should be able to stay with him. Instead she was leaving him behind.

Cecia ordered the nanny droid to carry him down to Level B, the hidden underground level of the house, where Sorvan would be hopefully safe.

She tried to find a store through the HoloNet that sold formula. While it was best that Sorvan feed off of the specialized formula made by top New Republic scientists, the formula used mostly for Twi'lik children so far had shown no side effects.

Ah ha!

There it was on _Rutwater Road. _A shop for infant supplies and listed in the advertisement was Twi'lik dry formula. Good. She didn't want to spend too much time looking for stores that sold baby formula.

She pulled a dark green shawl around her head to obscure herself from view, taking time to put in colored contacts as well, then proceeded to board her speeder.

Once she was there she was glad to see that there was quite a nice sized crowd there. In small areas she was more vulnerable where someone could easily spot her. And hopefull, given the shawl and her now hazel green eyes, there would be even less of a chance of someone deciding to "bring her to justice".

The shop was brown, shaped like a giant crate, and its paint was chipping in areas. There was a line of windows along the surface perimeter, but that was the only windows in the shop. It was as unaesthetic in appearance as one could get. Next to the elaborately crafted homes and consignment shops it stuck out like a Hutt in a Bothan social club.

The interior of the shop proved to be no different. It made her wonder what was really drawing the people to the store. Low prices? But with the broken down shelves that had been sloppily repaired, the paint spills, smell of noxious chemicals, and dim lighting, she began to wonder if even low prices would be a draw.

She was busy looking around for a moment when a woman reached her side.

"Excuse me, Miss, but are you looking for anything?"

Cecia glanced down to see a middle aged woman staring up at her expectantly.

"Twi'lik infant formula," she said.

The woman raised a brow, her expression puzzled.

"One of my friends is a Twi'lik and she's having a baby and I thought I'd buy some dry formula for her," Cecia lied, hoping the woman would buy it.

The woman looked her over for a moment as though holding a sense of doubt over the words, and then called a Gungan worker over.

"Naseeb, show her to the section for infant care."

Naseeb said something in Gungan, the woman shrugged, and then turned over to Cecia.

"You-sa follow me-sa," he said in a high voice, leading her to the desired area.

It seemed to take no time at all, and Cecia was glad to see that she would be able to return soon to her home.

As she turned around to leave though, she couldn't help but listen in on the conversation one isle down.

Someone was talking in a quiet, cultivated voice. Dread and horror gripping her heart.

Her knees wobbled for a moment. Was it him? But he was dead…wasn't he?

Cecia felt for a moment as though she was going to faint. It was ridiculous, of course. There was little chance that Thrawn had survived Bilbringi or that he would be stalking her. He had far better things to do, right? It had to be someone that sounded just like him! But with her heart pounding madly against her chest, and with the voice potentially near, logic became distorted.

She could try protecting her son, try to live a normal life, but nothing seemed to bring those memories to a full halt.

"It will take approximately…days to accomplish…" the cultured voice continued. Calm. Deep. With a weight of authority behind it.

She couldn't concentrate on the words anymore, scrambling like mad to pay for the formula and get out of the shop. Whatever the man was talking about, she knew it wasn't entirely pleasant. It was most likely _not _about her, but at the same time it was best to leave the store as soon as possible.

Again she was grateful for the nice sized crowd as she made a dash toward the nearest clear cashier register.

She took a small glance backward to have her gaze meet a pair of bored black eyes. The owner of them was a moderately tall, compactly built man. His hair was black, modestly spiky, and he was wearing a black tank top with frayed edges, dark brown leather pants, and worn down boots. He had a small tatoo of a dragon on his upper left forearm, blue wings outstretched in flight.

He somehow made her think of a docile shark.

For a moment their gazes were locked and then the strange man faded off into the crowd. Strange.

She returned to the cash register.

"My, my—in a hurry are we?" the Bothan cashier stated.

"Yeah. I need to get home. Soon. Thanks."

She paid for the formula, grabbed the sack, and walked out the door with brisk steps.

She thought she heard the words,_ Have a nice day,_ behind her, but didn't stop or return the common phrase. She boarded her speeder with a type of agility that comes from fear of the unknown, of adrenaline charging through her veins.

_Calm down. Calm down. Calm down!_

Cecia chanted the words inside her head in rhythm with her wildly beating heart.

_I hate this! Being afraid. Running. Hiding. I _hate_ it all._

She whipped through the streets, careful not to go beyond the Moenia speed limit. She ended up at her house on the outskirts under the time frame of six minutes.

I-I-I-I-I-I

Melita Ronswan glanced over at her partner, having returned from checking the vegetable and food section of the rusty shop. Halburn was talking to someone. A short, squat, balding man with beady black eyes. He was well dressed and in one hand he carried a cigara. He appeared to be an important figure, but Ronswan couldn't recognize him.

"It will take approximately four to five days to accomplish," Halburn was saying to the man in a low voice.

Even with all the sounds around her from the surprisingly large crowd (_what drew the sentients to this place?_ she wondered) she picked up the noise of someone from the opposite aisle scrambling away hurriedly. A few packets fell, but the person was too much in a hurry to pick them up.

She thought nothing of it.

A droid worker clanked past her, discarding old items and restocking the shelves. It, like most of the store seemed to be, was a rusted brown color and from the squeaking of the joints it appeared it hadn't had a good oil bath for months.

Ronswan waited patiently as the droid continued to work, _then_ approached Halburn.

"Hey, love," she greeted, instantly trying to sound like a love dazed couple should.

They had recently come to Naboo and this store was their first stop. They needed to buy some home necessities while on the investigation. Also, it provided an opportunity to watch for the man she had met three days hence. The man whose name she still didn't have thanks entirely to her clumsiness.

"Hello, dearest!" he returned, his serious face splitting into a disarmingly charming smile. Had she been anyone else she would have felt heat rise to her cheeks. Instead she felt nothing.

The balding man gave her a quick smile, bowed, and promptly excused himself.

"What was that all about?" she whispered.

Halburn said nothing but lowered his head to kiss her. He had been doing that off and on during the trip for practice. His lips had a sharp, oddly metallic flavor to them, but she put aside her disgust and returned the kiss. What had he been doing or drinking? His scent was non-alcoholic, but had a slightly chemical smell.

"Nothing, sweetie. Absolutely nothing."

But there was something. Halburn was hiding something from her. Though he was a brilliant detective who had years of experience and awards behind him, it didn't disquiet her distrust or distaste for the man. She thought it would be better if she tried to track down the extremists alone. It had sounded all good and fine to have a partner, but that was before she had met Halburn in person.

He had been nothing but a pain in the rear end since they had met.

I-I-I-I-I-I

Minister of State, Leia Organa Solo, hadn't had a days rest from work for days on end. Rooting out extremists, trying to appease to all races at the same time.

She ran a hand through her hair. Her desk was littered with paperwork. The brown wood was peeking out slightly from the white edges. And it wasn't a small desk, either.

Sometimes Leia longed for the early days, when she was able to move around, fight alongside the Alliance. The days when her love for Han had blossomed and vice versa. She had had little time for her friends or for her husband. Since the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn things had become considerably busy with aliens of conquered planets flocking to the aid of the New Republic.

The devastation of some of those planets had been great, and it was no wonder there were bitter people out who hated Thrawn with enough passion to kill his illegitimate child.

Yet, at the same time, those attacks were very strange. Most people knew not to gather weapons from the same shop or else they would get caught by the authorities sooner or later. Also, wasn't it a bit extreme for them to go after the child of Thrawn and the victim of rape? Something was out of place in the whole thing.

Being followed by a Shinimi. The aggressors buying weapons from one shop. Constant attacks. Flaming debates.

There had been a considerable amount of debates within the senate over Cecia Norvar and Sorvan. Whether or not she was to be considered partaker in the crimes of the Empire or to be a rightful New Republic citizen, or whether or not her child deserved death for his father's crimes. There were some cultures that believed that the child of a criminal was punishable for his/her father's crimes.

But normally those cultures wouldn't go so far. Luke was the son of Darth Vader, yet no one was trying to kill him as far as Leia could see. Then again, he was a Jedi. Some might do otherwise if he didn't have Jedi powers. Not to mention, of course, the very fact that she was offspring of Vader, too.

The attacks went much deeper than mere bitterness or a grudge against Imperials or the deceased Grand Admiral. Someone was causing them for his/her own purpose? Another secret movement of government? The debates within the senate council chamber were always fiery when discussing the situation with Cecia Norvar. Of course, each meeting her current location was unmentioned. It would be precarious to let that information loose among the council members.

Something was going on. And hopefully she, the government, or the investigators she had sent to Naboo, would get to the bottom of it.

I-I-I-I-I-I

Drev Grenweld took another swig of his _fizzbrew, _eyes flicking to the patrons seated beside him. Loud, out of tune music was playing in the cantina. It was a dark place with lights that put everything in a hazy orange glow. Making it harder to see who was there. A hand instinctively trailed down to his blaster. Precaution was a necessity in his occupation.

He was a smuggler off Dentroot who had barely escaped a lifetime of prison for shipping illegal spice. Until he had discovered from his close associates that someone was paying a lot of money to have a certain woman terminated. He didn't really understand _why_, but more credits meant more food on the table, and the fact his sister coud have the medical attention she so desperately needed. The cancer was eating its way through her body. She needed a cure desperately. And at the moment Grenweld was unable to pay for that cure.

He had been in the middle of a spice run when he had met Grizrond. He still didn't know who Grizrond was or his species. All he knew was that this person had come in gold and burgundy Mandalorian armor and had offered him many credits for the termination of Norvar. After hearing about how much was being offered, he had been more than willing to set out to the task.

His sister would be saved. Everything would be all right.

Soon after the brief meeting with Grizrond, he had crossed paths with a Shinimi who, too, had been contacted by someone who had offered an immense amount of credits. The Shinimi had been ecstatic, informing Grenwold to meet him and his partner, Kuraha Yamanaka, to the _Iron Keg_ at Moenia.

Drev Grenweld had agreed and that was why he was at the cantina. Though, he was also beginning to wonder if this was a trap. With the loud music, shadows, dim lighting, one would think this was a setup for a shoot out.

_Enough. Nothing's going to happ—_

"Excuse me, are you Drev Grenweld?" a rough voice said from behind him.

Grenweld turned around slowly to see a compact man standing behind him. A Shinimi was nowhere to be seen. So, this must not be his contact. Somehow, Grenweld felt a measure of relief. This guy wasn't someone to mess with. It was in those dark, almond shaped, eyes.

Grenweld choked back his forboding.

"Yes, I am," he said in as normal a voice as possible, trying to talk over the music.

The man smiled.

"Good! I am Kuraha Yamanaka."

_Sith. Sith. Sith!_

Yamanaka glanced around the cantina, arching a black brow. His handsome face split into a shark's grin. It was friendly, but at the same time Grenweld felt threatened by it. He was also confused as to whether it was genuine or not.

"Ah, this place is considerably noisy, hm? Let's go outside, shall we? I know of a much more quiet place," he said above the loud racket.

"Uh, I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Grenweld stated aloud, forehead beginning to perspire. He had a bad feeling about all this. A very bad feeling.

"Relax. You think I'm going to _kill_ you?"

_Yes. Yes I do. Either that or turn me into the authorities!_

But Grenweld held his tongue. It would be unwise to say such in front of this man.

"All right. I'll go outside. I'm just paranoid."

He waited while Yamanaka paid for a strong Forvish ale before going outside with him. Grenweld wondered how the man was going to manage being sober after drinking the ale. It smelled very, very strong. Very concentrated. If the man would be drinking Forvish ale there was less of a chance to become blasted. The man would be drunk in no time. This made Grenweld feel much better.

Yamanaka led him into a shaded, quiet spot away from the cantina. It was a beautiful area with green, leafy trees, golden, blooming flowers, and the sounds of birds chirping everywhere.

When Grenweld had the money to have his sister cured of cancer he would take her to this area. It was so peaceful. The trees also offered a lot of cool shade. It would be a wonderful resort during the late spring to early summer. There were a few benches around, as well, making it more park-like.

"Hold this."

Yamanaka handed Grenweld the Forvish ale while he set the benches up so that they would be much closer to each other. Grenweld seriously thought it would look like they were homosexual lovers, but chose not to say anything. Let the man rearrange the benches. It wasn't going to hurt anyone.

"Thanks."

Yamanaka took back the ale and seated himself in the shade.

"It's so bright," he commented, eyes squinting even in the shade.

"And you didn't figure that out when you came outside?" Grenweld asked, feeling slightly embarrassed for his fears. This man was harmless. "Anyway, what is this meeting about? I'd like to get this over with."

"I assure you, this will all be over soon. I just have a few questions."

Grenweld expected that the very next thing the man would ask was, "What is your business in seeking out the termination of Cecia Norvar?" but instead it was, "Who are you working under?"

"Well, I had a job offered from a mysterious man named Grizrond"—he stopped when he saw the black eyes of Kuraha Yamanaka widen—"but I'm not actually working under him."

Yamanaka was very silent for a moment, then asked in a low voice, "What are your motives?"

Ah, so this guy was for the New Republic. An investigator no less.

"Look, if you think you're going to make me feel guilt about hunting down Norvar you had better go back to your home base in the New Republic," he said, a mix of anger and desperation in his words.

"I'm not with the New Republic. And I'm not an investigator. However, I am very curious to hear your motives. If you do not"—

"Fine. My motives are to find a cure for my sister. She's dying with cancer. Happy now?" he demanded, cutting off Yamanaka's words.

Yamanaka took a long sip of the ale.

"Your answer is very satisfactory, yes. However, I could pay you double the amount Grizrond had offered."

"And what is my job?" Grenweld asked warily. The money looked good, but at the same time he was wondering about what the man would have him do.

"It's very simple. All you have to do is send in the names of the smugglers and bounty hunters who are tracking down Cecia Norvar and m—her son. I will then deal with them later. I warn you, if you decide to betray me to Grizrond I will see to your extermination. Any foolish moves and your life will be equally forfeit. Do you want to take the job?"

Grenweld felt the blood leave his face. But, even while the words struck fear in his heart, he desperately needed that money.

"All right. I'll take it."

He was stepping in dangerous territory. But his she was worth it all.

Lilia Browel.

His sister.

_**To Be Continued...**_


	6. Chapter Five

A/N: This chapter is a bit dark. And there is a little bit of violence. And it's a tad bit short. Sorry 'bout that.

Disclaimer: I don't own SW and the song 30 Minutes is still owned by TATU though I strongly disagree with their advertised lifestyle.

_Can we fly?  
Do I stay?  
We could lose  
We could fail_

_In the moment  
It takes  
To make plans  
Or mistakes_

**Chapter Five**

"Hey. I'm going outside for a moment for some fresh air. Won't be long."

Melita Ronswan looked up from the assorted datacards and recorded news holograms scattered about on the glasswood table. A mug of steaming _corjet_ was beside her elbow, and she took a drink from it while watching her partner from the corner of her eyes.

It was the third day since they had come to Moenia. In that time Jonas Halburn had been behaving as a normal investigator aught, but she still wanted to watch him.

Who was that man he had been talking to three days ago?

"_It will take approximately four to five days to accomplish."_

What had he meant?

Ronswan planned to find out.

When Halburn was outside she decided to follow him to see what he was doing. She was sure it wasn't just to get a "breath of fresh air". There was something about him and until she could prove he was on her side and on the side of the New Republic she would always be suspicious of him.

She didn't go out the front door, but made her exit from the back, creeping along the corner of the house to watch him. She inched her way along, not letting the rustling of dew dampened grass give her away. She made it to the corner, heart pounding in her throat as she began to slowly take a peak at him. Any moment and he could turn around and spot her.

He wasn't talking to anyone via comm link, nor was he doing anything even remotely suspicious. He was standing outside watching the orange and pink glow of the setting sun.

He really _was _taking a breath of fresh air.

It was very anticlimatic.

How much of her suspicion was pure imagination and how much was _real_?

"_It will take… four to five days to accomplish."_

What was going on?

I-I-I-I-I-I

Kuraha Yamanaka had appeared in Drev Grenweld's first meeting to be a man who wasn't to be taken lightly. Had Grenweld been anyone else he would have been somewhat terrified to be in the man's presence. But by this new job of hunting down those who were targeting Norvar, he would have the money to pay for a cure for Lilia. That is, if the cancer was already beyond the point of no return.

The skin around his eyes tightened at that thought, dread lingering inside his heart. No. Last time he had seen her (that had been a week ago) she had been ill, but not terminally ill.

But the cancer was spreading even while the minutes dragged by…

"I thought you might want to see this, sir. It's a list of the names of potential smugglers and bounty hunters who want to have Norvar at blaster point," he said aloud. "I also put the names of a few top Imperial agents. Helesin Gortiv, Josan Milburn, Kuchiki Ichigo."

His new employer arched a slender black brow, a miniscule smile forming at his mouth. Or was that a smile? Was it the beginning of a grimace? His expression was decidedly unreadable.

"I don't believe there will be any trouble with Imperial agents, Grenweld. For one they are busy organizing and ruling their own territories. And why would they feel any animosity toward Norvar and toward her son? It is the New Republic one has to be wary about as well as Grisrond," Yamanaka explained, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing to full height.

"Yes, sir. I'll be aware of that. I'm sorry also that my information is inconclusive. I'll try to come up with something."

Grenweld half expected Kuraha Yamanaka to dismiss him, and felt surprise at the next words out of the man's mouth.

"How is your sister?"

The question was spoken in an impersonal manner, but there was a little polite concern mixed in there as well.

"She could be past the point of recovery by now," Grenweld said gravely, averting his gaze to the ground. "Then again," he continued in a soft tone, "She was already past the point of recovery before then."

"I beg your pardon?" Yamanaka stated.

"It's nothing you would be interested in, sir. Point is she saw her fiance and childhood friend murdered right in front of her. Couldn't talk for almost a whole kriffing year. That _kriffing _son of a Hutt! If I had a choice I'd turn him into a nice ash…!" Grenweld trailed off for a moment, a mixture of anger and sorrow filling his soul at the memories of the empty, haunted shell his sister had become.

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Yamanaka was staring at him keenly, as though he knew something Grenweld hadn't said aloud. There was something in those almond shaped eyes. Something very grim.

"It's quite all right, Grenweld," he said quietly. He made a motion as though to press a switch from beneath the desk, then, keeping his eyes trained on Grenweld, said politely, "Please give me your sister's name as well as the hospital she is to be treated at."

"Lilia Browel. Halcut Morgin Hospital, Coruscant. She—"

"Very good," Yamanaka cut him off, keying the switch at the same time.

"Yes, sir?" a tentative voice asked from the comm link.

"Transfer fifty thousand credits to the Halcut Morgin Hospital and make a deposit in one Lilia Browel's account for extensive cancer treatment."

"Right away, sir."

Yamanaka keyed the comm off, his face still void of any immediate emotions. His black eyes seemed to bore knowingly into Grenweld's soul…

"Y-you…" the man stammered, his mouth suddenly dry. Lilia. Lilia would be treated from cancer. She would be fine. She would _live_…

"Thank you," he breathed.

Yamanaka gave a fractional shrug of the shoulders, a slender black brow raised ever so slightly.

For a man who appeared rough on the outside, Kuraha Yamanaka had something most pirates, smugglers, and even New Rebublic big heads lacked. He seemed refined. Cultured even. Somewhat different from the shark like man who had appeared to him earlier in the rather noisome cantina.

"It is very rare for me to be so generous, Grenweld. This was an exception."

Grenweld felt his throat tighten for a moment. Yes, for whatever reason Yamanaka had seen to his sister's wellbeing, it didn't necessarily mean the man was a soft or compassionate individual. In fact, he wondered if the whole reason he was watching Norvar was for financial gain or something of the sort. Yamanaka just didn't strike him as being one with softer emotions. For anyone.

He knew that Yamanaka knew full well what he had been doing when he had contacted his people. Drev Grenweld owed him now. Big time. What better way than to pay for the intensive cancer treatment?

I-I-I-I-I

The _Fate of Arnon _glittered like a silver gem just outside Chiss Space. It had a few scratches here and there on its newly polished hull where it had entered a few laser battles with mercenary groups or pirate wings. But the gleaming, blue tinged mirror-like surface (and, indeed, the entire ship), was completely whole. Beautiful. But despite the fact it had a gorgeous exterior, the starship was built like a lumpy, pregnant bantha.

From the bridge of the ship, looking out into the viewport, a warrior clothed in red Mandalorian armor stood, hands clasped behind him. His head was turned toward the stars, to the empty space, his opaque t-shaped visor giving away nothing of what he was feeling or thinking.

Captain Chassra Norwich felt a chill go down his spine as he watched the tall, imposing figure. There was little he knew about Grisrond. Very little. The man was a strategic genius. In many ways he rivaled even Thrawn, but there was something very off about him. Norwich didn't know how to place it. All he knew was that Grisrond was different.

"We have a transmission from Naboo, sir," someone said.

"Put it on," Grisrond ordered. The voice synthesisor made him sound mechanical, like a droid.

A full sized hologram of a man with red hair, freckles, and wearing a boravin vest with tight leather pants, appeared in the center of the bridge.

"Greetings, Lord Grisrond. As you well know, it is near the fourth day. However, it is next to impossible to carry out your wishes when I am"—

The transmission abruptly cut off, the holo sizzling out in a rush of blue and white static before disappearing completely.

Norwich swallowed, glancing over at where Grisrond stood. This incident didn't portend well. They had sent Hathalas on a mission to disguise himself as a well known investigator but it appeared he had been sniffed out. Now he wondered how Grisrond would take it. It was no secret that the man had been targetting Cecia Norvar's alien child for several weeks. This would only delay him in that goal.

Norwich didn't know what Grisrond had against the child. All he knew was that he was going to get paid. And if Grisrond became too displeased with the slow progress Norwich wouldn't live long enough to spend that money.

I-I-I-I-I-I

"What was that?" Ronswan demanded, her eyes flashing at Halburn. His message, or the part she had listened to, had more than confirmed her belief. This wasn't the real Halburn. He was a fake. A hoax. The real Halburn was a hero, a man with morals and life values. This man was lacking in them.

She should have guessed from the chemical taste and scent of the man that he had been disguised as New Republic Investigator Jonas Halburn. She hadn't been able to place the scent, but now she recalled that it had been similar to the smell of most chemical dyes.

The man narrowed his eyes at her, his lips curling back into a cruel line.

"You're planning to kill Norvar aren't you? Why? What has she"—

The man slammed her roughly against a wall, hand pressing into her shoulders. She gasped in pain, eyes smarting. His face was a mask of cool rage and aggression. His lips lifted in a tight smile.

"Yes. I plan on killing Norvar. And that brat. What are you gonna do about it? Shoot me?"

In answer Ronswan whipped out her blaster, pointing it squarely at his chest. Her breath came out shakily. She had never been in such danger before. Normally the New Republic sent out some of the tops after major governmental criminals. Any moment and this man could throw her a violent surprise.

She pulled the trigger, knowing she was within her rights to shoot this man out of defense.

Nothing happened. There was a hollow, horrible resounding _click_. Empty.

"While I was in your abode, sweet Melita, I took the necesarry precaution of removing all powerpacks from your weapons. I knew you would find out sometime and to better prepare against it, I decided to take a few"—

He never finished.

While she was unarmed, Ronswan could still fight. She pivoted on her right foot, sending the left foot slamming hard against his hard waist. Or, it _would_ have slammed against his waist. He gripped her leg, throwing her off balance, making her tumble to the ground.

"I should have known," he said wryly. With a terrific amount of force his booted foot impacted itself into Ronswan's abdominal region, knocking the air out of her lungs. She moaned, instinctively doubling over. She briefly saw a flash of something metal as he pulled something out of his boot, and immediately tried to remove herself from that spot on the floor, knowing all too well what that something was.

But the man sent her another powerful kick, this time in the ribs.

She cried out as she felt several ribs snap, coughing up blood from her injured lungs. Panic flooded her senses. What was she to do? There was no way she could win! It was becoming difficult to breathe. Each breath was filled with cutting sharp pain from her injuries.

She flinched instinctively as she saw "Halburn" ready himself to strike again. She closed her eyes, expecting to feel the slamming impact of his kick.

But it was the sharp steel of a dagger hurling into her chest, trailing through her body until the very tip protruded at her back, a red, warm ribbon of blood blossoming out.

As the weapon sliced through her vital organ the last sentient thought she had before eternal darkness embraced her was, _I failed them. I failed them all._

In the darkness of the night a lone speeder ripped through the streets of Moenia.

It was the fourth day…


	7. Chapter Six

Note: I'm so sorry for making you all wait so long after the fifth chapter! I had serious WB. Anyway, here's the sixth chapter. I was going to put the opening line of _Chinurareta kajitsu_ (copyright, _Malice Mizer_) instead of _30 Minutes_, but wanted to keep up with the flow of the past chapters.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters. The song _30 Minutes _is _still _copyrighted to TATU. Nothing has changed between this chapter and the last in these matters. :-)

_  
30 minutes, a blink of an eye  
30 minutes, to alter our lives  
30 minutes, to make up my mind  
30 minutes, to finally decide_

_30 minutes, to whisper your name  
30 minutes, to shoulder the blame  
30 minutes, of bliss, thirty lies  
30 minutes, to finally decide_

**Chapter Six**

Cecia couldn't sleep. She had been laying in bed for the past three hours since going to bed, trying to gain some much needed shut-eye. Sorvan wasn't helping much since every hour he wanted to be fed, diaper changed, or demanded her attention. He also seemed more restless than usual.

Outside the streets were quiet. There were no aerial traffic at this hour of day. Because of the quiet she could make out the peaceful chirruping of birds and insects. Overall it was quite peaceful outside.

Then why did she keep feeling a sense of unease, as though a disaster was only just waiting to happen?

This apprehension inside her was far too familiar. She had always felt _something_ directly before the attacks. Outside she could hear faint mechanical scratching, as though someone was trying to dig into her home. The protocal droids were still standing silent. Too quiet.

She sat straight up.

There was a way to find out what the protocal droids were doing. But, she didn't want to step foot outside. Not yet. Her blood was cooling in her body. Something was out there. Watching her.

_Scrape. Scrape. _

Cecia slowly rose from the bed, pushing the sheets aside.

**CRACK!**

The sound was like a thunderclap, echoing through the distance:

_CRACK…crack…..crack…!_

Cecia didn't need anymore motivation. She whipped the sheets from off her body and lunged into the small nursery where her child was laying. He was squirming in his pajamas, red eyes wide open with surprise.

The aura of fear that surrounded her must have gripped him, because soon he began to keen from confusion and stark terror.

She picked him up in her arms, ready to bring him to the sheltered area in the hidden basement.

Her adrenaline induced hearing picked up the sound of something that made the drumming of her heart compete with the loud crack outside.

Footsteps. Inside her home.

And the protocal droids were still silent. Why hadn't they attacked? They had been highly specialized models—no one should have been able to bipass them.

Cecia felt like she was running in slow motion. It was like she was in a nightmare and on the verge of waking up. She had to force herself to keep running, even though her heart wanted to give up inside her. Even though she was tempted to give in to the threat that had been stalking her since Sorvan's birth.

To finally have peace.

To finally succomb to…death. That comforting eternal darkness beckoned to her heart.

Abruptly, something stopped her from taking another step. There was no sound, no voice that should have hindered her from seeking protection. Yet something made her stop and turn around.

A redheaded man was standing behind her like a predator stalking prey. In his arm was a powerful blaster rifle. His face was cold, expressionless. It reminded her of Thrawn. His voice equally so. It was gentle, cultured, yet the sound brought back terrible memories best left forgotten.

"Hand over the infant," he said all too calmly, "and you'll live and be in Grisrond's eternal favor."

_Grisrond's eternal favor…peace._

Cecia, held spellbound and enthralled by something unseen, found herself walking to the redhead with jerking motions. Like a puppet on a string. Something was terribly wrong. And her thoughts were hazy…

_Sweet blood, _the thin voice whispered sidiously into her ear. Her blood chilled. The temperature in the room became abruptly unbearably cold. Her limbs felt numb and the hair in the back of her head rose.

In the distance someone screamed. And in that moment, the spell was cracked open, splintering so that her mind was once again her own.

_I want to live…_

I-I-I-I-I

Josan Milburn re-checked his weapon status, his artificial eyes sweeping watchfully over the isolated house. He had been assigned to watch over Norvar's house. A squad of hidden mercenaries was nearby if there was trouble.

Thrawn had wisely declined the usage of white-armored stormtroopers. The sight would not only scare the aggressor, but would also cause panic among the natives of Naboo. In time Thrawn would rise to power again, but in the meanwhile he was keeping to the shadows in secrecy.

_**CRACK! Crack…**crack…crack…!_

_What the—?_

Green ionizer beams bounced toward the protocal droids, and then black shadows began to move across the lawn, crawling like spiders through the dark of the early morning.

He switched his comm to order the mercenaries to open fire, but the comm unit was jerked out of his hand from a red blaster bolt. He was about to whip out his own weapon in answer, but the hard nozzle of a blaster pressed against the back of his neck stopped him cold.

"Don't move," a low voice said directly behind him.

_Kuchiki Ichigo? What was going on?_

"Put your weapon on the ground. Now," the man ordered. "I'm sorry to do this to you, sir, but I have my reasons."

"I'm sure you do," Milburn said gravely. He tried to keep his voice from tremoring. It woud be humiliating to show fear at this moment. If he were to die, if this was his moment to die, he would go without fear. Without remorse, but would die a warrior's death. And whatever Ichigo wanted he wouldn't get. "And what are those reasons?" Milburn continued as he lowered his weapon.

He looked at Norvar's house, cursing silently as he saw a figure moving around inside. Why weren't his mercenaries attacking?

"They're busy playing with my private squad," Kuchiki Ichigo said into his thoughts. "I think your Grand Admiral's tactical brilliance is vastly overrated; Grisrond is one step ahead of _him._ As he will always be."

_Kriff!_

Faintly, as though in answer to those spoken words, a shrill scream filled the air and then was abruptly cut off.

Milburn sensed rather than _felt_ Ichigo's dark smile.

"And why should I tell you what my reasons are?" Ichigo said contemptuously.

Milburn brought his shoulders up as though to shrug, but the blaster nozzle was pressed harder against his neck.

"Because it would make things much easier," he replied.

The young man was silent for a handbreadth.

"In the Unknown Regions our _beloved_ Grand Admiral had come upon a certain planet It was a vast planet, with a primitive and yet simultaneously advanced culture. The aliens, while being partially aggressive, were mostly a peaceful kind and they served and worshipped a being known only as Grisrond. They would offer him the blood of those who had made an aggressive assault against him or had done him wrong. Or, the aliens would offer him the blood of the son of the enemy if the father was dead. I guess you could say Grisrond was a vampire."

A chill crawled down Milburn's spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He had a funny feeling where this was going. That person in Cecia Norvar's house…

Ichigo released a snort of disdain.

"Our _dearest_ Grand Admiral decided to release an attack against the aliens. It was officiated by Emperor Palpatine, but Thrawn struck against them because he saw no use in them and was unable to manipulate them to his cause. He slaughtered them. Women. Children. Each ordered to be systematically destroyed. Grisrond escaped. _I_, however, _I_ helped him. _I_ was there. And now, Grisrond wants _blood_. He's _starving_ for it," Ichigo hissed.

No. Thrawn had _never _committed such an atrocity. Yes, some Imperials had butchered aliens and other species, but Thrawn was above that. He would never stoop so low as to commit genocide!

Milburn narrowed his eyes.

'You're lying."

Ichigo released a brief, grim laugh from behind him.

"Didn't you ever ask where old 'Red Eyes' got that old sculpt' from? Didn't anyone _ever_ question him?"

Milburn was about to answer when he heard a slight thud followed by a low grunt. He took his chance and snatched his blaster back up, turning around to see Ichigo on his back, a small, steaming black hole revealing the mark of a blaster bolt. And standing next to the body with an expression of contempt was—

Grand Admiral Thrawn. In his human disguise, of course.

Milburn felt shock running through his body, followed quickly by anger. Thrawn was here, out in the open, while a battle was going on. A stray blaster bolt could kill him. What did Thrawn think he was doing out here? He wasn't an invincible force! What had possessed him to become so reckless!

"Relax. I am more hardier than what I appear. And." Thrawn looked over at the house in the distance. "I protect my own."

Milburn gathered himself to argue his point, but then he remembered what it was they were fighting for. What they were trying so hard to defend.

_I protect my own._

I-I-I-I-I-I

_I want to live…_

New awareness filled Cecia. Awareness of life and of the fact that if she wanted to survive she must fight (or endure) longer. Sorvan was actually quiet in her arms, but she could feel his body shivering like a leaf in the wind.

And that, in itself was what made the twisted darkness leave the house. The realization that in her selfish want for peace and silence, the life of her child would be drowned out.

Also, there was something more to this man than the need for vengeance. There was something oily and sinister about him.

His eyes were like hard glass marbles; there was no remorse in them—they were as remote as those of a cold-blooded reptile. There was nothing in him keeping him from killing her and Sorvan.

"Hand over the infant, _chell_!"

He spat the added insult, waving his blaster rifle for emphasis on what would happen if she disobeyed him. She backed away from him, her arms covering Sorvan protectively.

"What do you want with him?" she demanded. Chills were spreading down her spine.

The man's lips curled upward into a gentle smile, but the glossy gleam never left his eyes.

"What do I want with him?" he echoed, as though he didn't understand the question. "Naturally, I want to give him to Grisrond. Afterall, Chiss blood is the _sweetest_. And. Grisrond is hungry for vengeance."

Revolted, Cecia looked around for anything that would put a stop to this man. For anyway for escape. But there wasn't a way to escape. She couldn't fight holding Sorvan, and she wouldn't be able to run away in the time it took for the man to blast her. But, perhaps she could find a way to distract him and then knock the blaster from his hands. It would be stupid, but better than waiting to be blown to bits.

The door sliding slowly, soundlessly, open rom behind the twisted man made that glimmer of fool's hope disappear into tattered fragments. This person, this _monster_, had back-up to make sure she couldn't escape.

Once again her life was in the hands of someone else, once again someone else was forcing her to do something horrendous. Only this time it wasn't just her body. It was someone else's life, someone else's blood they were after. Being violated had been a terrible experience. This was much worse.

The group of men that entered her home were the big, burly types. They were ugly, brutish, with faces scarred up from past battles. They wore an odd assortment of armor, and were heavily armed with weapons.

"Sure we should just kill her, sir?" one asked. "Looks like she'll be a tight one! I wanna try her." Several of the men made a chorus of, "Yeah, why not!" and ugly, barking laughter.

The redheaded man contemplated this for a moment, shrugged, and said, "Sure, why not?"

Cecia's skin crawled and her stomach clenched tightly with nausea. She didn't stop or hesitate but followed her strong instinct to get out of there as fast as possible.

She didn't get very far.

A rough hand snatched her by the shoulder, squeezing like a metal pincer, tossing her into the group. Someone wrenched Sorvan from her arms.

She let out an outraged cry, a desperate sob coming from her mouth, now seeking to snatch him from the men even though she was sickened inside because of them. She did know a little bit of combat, but evidently it wasn't enough—they overpowered her very quickly, laughing at her exertion all the while.

As she was pinned to the ground, as she felt her night shirt being torn and cut from her body—exposing her nude breasts to their profane eyes—her mind shut down. She couldn't see or hear anything around her. All she knew was that the nightmare was happening again. And this was much worse than when Thrawn had done the same. Much worse.

She wanted to fight the act of violation, the feeling of being invaded by brutal force, of having her body used once more on another's selfish whimsy. Wanted to escape and break free. Or die in the process.

"Quit your"—

The voice was cut off abruptly as blaster bolts danced into the house, cutting off rude, coarse laughter and profane jibes into shouts of anger, pain, and terror.

One blast rendered the lights useless, the electronics fizzling out. There was a confusing scurry of legs scampering to get away intermixed with the dull thud of dead bodies gliding to the ground. Through it all Cecia stayed where she was. Sorvan was silent. Where was Sorvan? Then all the sounds, the screams, the cursing, the beating hearts, all were silent.

Someone wrapped something around her to conceal her naked breasts and helped her sit up. Someone else switched on a glow rod.

The man who helped her sit up was the same she had seen in that lowdown market a few days ago. His hair was jet black, his skin was a pale yellow color, and he had ebony eyes. He appeared rough, but there was something about him that made him seem much more sophisticated than the men that had attempted to rape and kill her. There was something so much more _civilized _about him. And yet, there was something about him that made the back of her neck tingle.

The fact he was right beside her didn't help matters any. In fact, because of his sheer size and build, she was feeling very apprehensive. In the primordial recesses of her mind an old fear spread as memories were awakened, and her limbs started to tremble from the feeling of helplessness. She flinched from the man's touch and instinctively drew the jacket tighter over her body.

"I won't hurt you," the man stated gently, coaxingly, as though she was a traumatized bantha cub. He moved away from her, knowing perhaps how much terror his presence evoked inside her. "I've been watching over you ever since I heard about Sorvan's birth."

She opened her mouth to gather words to say to him, but the words were silent. She couldn't bring herself to say much around him. He reminded her to much of…_him_. And he evoked unpleasant memories she had tried hard to forget.

The man cleared his throat and took a quick glance around the room, at the men laying dead, bodies twisted in pain.

"They had reinforcements and _those _will be coming very soon. Come with me and I will give you my complete protection."

Cecia was hesitant to respond. He was asking her to go with him. She didn't know who he was, or what he was working under. She wanted to ask him his name, but to her astonishment, he answered the question while it was silent.

"I am going under the alias Kuraha Yamanaka. My true name is secret, and I serve under no one. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

She nodded, still feeling ill at ease with the man.

The black eyes narrowed somewhat.

"If I wanted to kill you I would have done so. But trust me when I say I want to protect you, that I want to exterminate the person who desires most to destroy you and your son."

_Grisrond…_

The unspoken name sent a shiver of dread through her body. She had been almost driven by an unseen force to hand her child over to Halburn.

"_Chiss blood is the _sweetest_…"_

A vampire.

_Sweet blood, _the pure voice echoed through the recesses of her mind.

It no longer mattered that this man reminded her of Thrawn, that she had almost been raped once more—this new threat made all of those terrors pale in comparison.

She would have to go with this man. This "Kuraha Yamanaka".

Any fate, after all, was better than having Grisrond hunt her son.


End file.
